the cats in your head

-----------------"Oh, that atrocity!" Penelope exclaimed.  [excerpt]----------------- "It was one of those girls from Dimsdale.  She was housemaid for a short time."

"What happened to her?  Did she get a job painting subway trains?"

"I hear she left town after defacing her apartment," the attorney said briskly.  "Speaking of transportation, Mr. Qwilleran, wouldn't you like to replace your little car with something more . . . upscale?  Mr. Fitch at the bank will cover the transaction."

"There's nothing wrong with the car I have, Miss Goodwinter.  There's no rust on the body, and it's economical to operate."

Qwilleran ended the conversation hurriedly.  While Penelope was talking he became aware of unusual noises coming from another part of the house -- a miscellany of plopping, pattering, fluttering, swishing, and skittering.  He rushed out of the library to track it down. 

Beyond the foyer with its majestic staircase there was a vestibule of generous proportions, floored with squares of creamy white marble.  Here was the rosewood hall stand with hooks for top hats and derbies, as well as a rack for walking sticks.  Here was a marble-topped table with a silver tray for calling cards.  And here was the massive front door with its brass handle and escutcheon, its brass doorbell that jangled when one turned a key on the outside, and its brass mail slot.

Through this slot were shooting envelopes of every size and shape, dropping in a pile on the floor.  Sitting on the cool marble and watching the process with anticipation were Koko and Yum Yum.  Now and then Koko would put forth a paw and scoop a letter from the pile, and Yum Yum would bat it around the slick floor.

As Qwilleran watched, the cascade of envelopes stopped falling, and through the sidelights he could see the mail carrier stepping into her Jeep and driving away.

His first impulse was to call the post office and suggest some other arrangement, but then he observed the pleasure that the event afforded the cats.  They jumped into the pile like children in a snowbank, rolling over and skidding and scattering the mail.  Nothing so wonderful had ever happened in their young lives!  Letters slithered across the marble vestibule and into the parquet foyer, where Yum Yum tried to push them under the Oriental rug.  Hiding things was her specialty.

One letter was gripped in Koko's jaws, and he paraded around with an air of importance.  It was a pink envelope.

"Here, give me that letter!" Qwilleran commanded.

Koko ran into the dining room with Qwilleran in pursuit.  The cat darted in and out of the maze of sixty-four chair legs, with the man chasing and scolding.  Eventually Koko tired of the game and dropped the pink envelope at Qwilleran's feet.----------------------------{The Cat Who Played Post Office.  Lilian Jackson Braun.  Copyright 1987.  Jove, The Berkley Publishing Group, New York.}

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---------------- [excerpts] -------------- Qwilleran opened the wicker hamper in the cats' parlor and invited two reluctant Siamese to jump out.  Why, he asked himself, did they never want to get into the hamper?  And when they were in it, why did they never want to get out?  Koko and Yum Yum finally emerged cautiously, a performance they had repeated every night for the last year, stalking the premises and sniffing the furnishings as if they suspected the room to be bugged or booby-trapped.

"Cats!" Qwilleran said aloud.  "Who can understand them?"

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Qwilleran went into the library to select wedding music:  Bach for the ceremony and Schubert with the champagne and caviar.  Koko followed him and scrutinized each cassette, sniffing some and reaching for others with an uncertain paw.

"A feline librarian is bad enough," Qwilleran said.  "Please!  We don't want a feline disc jockey."

"Nyik nyik nyik," Koko retorted irritably, swiveling one ear forward and the other back.

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At 5:45 Qwilleran fed the cats.  Pork liver cupcakes, when thawed, became a revolting gray mush, but the Siamese crouched over the plate and devoured the chef's innovation with tails flat on the floor, denoting total satisfaction. ------------------------------------ {The Cat Who Knew Shakespeare.  Lilian Jackson Braun.  Copyright, 1988.  Jove.  The Berkley Publishing Group.  New York.}

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One reads Mrs. Braun's mysteries partly for the Cat descriptions and action.  Koko helps Qwilleran -- a journalist who, in the fifth book in the series, inherits a fortune -- to solve puzzles and mysteries.  The cat gives him hints, by -- never walking on the part of a rug that's decorated with a pattern of roses -- or knocking books from a shelf to the floor.  Journalist Qwilleran finds the book on the floor and considers the book's contents, gleaning clues. ...

I think people who have cats can enjoy these mysteries, and people who don't have any cats can enjoy them, too.  Like, if a person was allergic to cats -- the book isn't going to cause a "reaction."  If you only imagine cats, in your head, there's no allergy flare-up. ...

---------------- [Post Office excerpt] ---------------- At a signal from the hostess the butler carried a silver tray of small envelopes to the gentlemen, containing the names of the ladies they were to take into the dining room.  "Dinner is served," he announced.  The musicians switched to Viennese waltzes, and the guests went in to dinner two by two.  No one noticed Koko and Yum Yum bringing up the rear, with tails proudly erect. --------------------

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